


Too Far Gone

by thecat_13145



Category: Lewis (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s04e01 The Dead of Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecat_13145/pseuds/thecat_13145
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old friend visits James</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Far Gone

**Author's Note:**

> I've being working on this for ages. Then I found a MorMor video to Too Far Gone and suddenly the fic just wrote itself. If anyone can make me a video for the dead of winter with this song, really, really thank you

>   
> Your intentions will never be blamed.  
> We're both too far gone to be saved
> 
> Too Far Gone ( To Be Saved )  
>  (Crowe/Doyle)

“Would you like a drink?”

It was probably not a normal reaction to finding the second most dangerous man in the country sitting in your flat, feet up on your coffee table, but James was too tired to care. Besides, there was no one here to fool.

Sebastian Moran grinned. “Keep you company.” He said, sliding across a glass filled with an amber coloured liquid. He grabbed it and swallowed it gratefully. Whisky, never his father or his lordship’s tipple. His father preferred brandy, his Lordship gin.

Bastion’s watching him like he’s waiting for a response, for him to say something. Like Lewis. Like Hobson, who’d being sent to stay with him while Lewis was performing the formalities down at the station. Like Innocent when she sent him home. 

Angrily he shoved the glass down.

“Ask it.”

Bastion glanced up at him enquiringly. “Do you want him dead?”

He blinked, as the other man continued. “It doesn’t have to be me. Doesn’t even have to be long. Broken neck kills very quickly.”

James stared him. “Aren’t you going ask me how I’m feeling? Whether anything…?” He choked off because Bastion was there and knows what happened. He’s no need to ask.

Bastion shrugged. “Why would I do something like that?”

“Because I’m reliably informed it’s what normal people do.” He wishes he didn’t sound so sarcastic, so bitter, but the unasked questions are getting to him.

Bastion smiled suddenly. “Good thing normal has never really applied to either of us.”

Suddenly Exhausted, James sunk down on the sofa. Because Bastion is right, normal has never applied to either of them. 

Wild, Strong willed, troubled, difficult, those were all words that he had heard her ladyship, his her ladyship, use referring to her nephew. Different, odd, strange, akward were all words others had used about him, even Lewis. 

Bastion never had. Even before the Summer house, from the first time he’d seen James, when her ladyship introduced her nephew to the other children on the estate. Those blue eyes, far older than their owner’s seven years had scanned over Scarlett automatically, dismissed Paul in an instant and settle on James. It had being rather disconcerting and that had made him angry, so he stared back just as hard. And Bastion had suddenly smiled at him, and he found himself smiling back. An alliance, a friendship, had being born between the diplomat’s son, newly returned from Iraq and still more comfortable in Arabic than English, and the estate manager’s son, who’d never travelled further than Oxford with his mother. A strange friendship, one he doubted either of them truly understood, but a friendship never the less.

He glanced over at Bastion, instinctively noting that the other man is armed. That he came down by train and that he’s serious. Augustus Mortmaigne’s fate is in his hands. Whatever James decides, Bastion will stand by.

He rubbed his face with his hands. 

His lordship’s death would make things easier. For Bethany, For Scarlet, for Paul, for him. No trial, no questions asked or unasked. No scandal to blight the lives of Titus and Selina. Secrets stay secret.

He risked a look at Bastion. “No” He said, his voice soft, but firm. “I want to him to live as long as possible, with everyone knowing what he did.”

He meets Bastion’s eyes, hoping the other man understands what he’s asking. What he can’t say.

There’s a lot unsaid between them. About how Bastion knew about an arrest that hasn’t even hit the paper’s yet. About the fact that this man, this former SAS sniper has the power to make it happen. About how Bastion knew where James was when they haven’t spoken since Cambridge, since the last time Bastion put a life in his hands. 

That time, he chose death, a decision he still on some level believes was the right one. 

Bastion’s smiled, a tiger’s smile, a predator’s smile. “Right.” He said softly. “What about the others?”

He shrugged, too tired. 

Scarlett’s made her choices and she’s too far gone to be saved or dammed. He can’t feel anything for her. Not knowing that she was not only, as he always knew, a procurer for her father, but that she would cover up a murder… at the same time, maybe some of the old flame still lingers, because he can’t commend her.

Paul…a cold hand grips at his stomach, thinking of how easily it could have being him there. In the chapel, like Paul, covering up for his lordship.

“I want…” He swallowed suddenly because he can’t do that. He can’t order Bastion to do what he isn’t brave enough to do himself. “Will you tell them about what you saw, what you know? Not for him, For Paul?”

Bastion nodded solemnly. “Sure.” He poured another glance of whisky, glancing across at James. “You know why I picked you there? Right from the first?”

“Because I was the only one who held your gaze?”

“No. well, partly.” Bastion paused, letting the liquid swirl around his glass. “You held my gaze, because you were the only one who was going to get out of there. The others accepted, condoned what was happening, the Droit du seigneur” his face twisted in disgust, showing the dangerous animal that always lurked beneath the surface, as he spat out the words. “You were the only one who seemed to understand that that place was the most dangerous, most fucked place on the planet-and I’m including two tours in Northern Ireland, Iraq- both times-, Afghanistan and London in that- and were trying to get out. You would have got out,” He added, very firm. “All that happened was things worked out. Even if they hadn’t, you would never ever have being Paul.” He leant back in his chair and added. “Too much of a prig.”

The word made him laugh a little, remembering those wet summer afternoons in the library reading Dickens, C.S. Lewis, Carole, Conan-Doyle, anything they could get their hands on. The secrets stretched between them.

Bastion was holding his eyes. He believed it and would believe for James until he could.

He thought he’d gone past the point of sleep, but it’s catching up with him. Or there was something added to that Whisky. The thought was less disturbing than it should be. Even with Bastion.

Bastion grinned at him.

“Want me to stay? I can kip on the couch.”

Even knowing that Lewis will undoubtedly be around early to check on him, he still did. 

“Thanks.” He watched as the other man stretched out, somehow managing to not look ridiculous as he crammed his six foot odd frame on to the small couch. “Hey Bastion.” It’s the first time he’s used the nickname and other man looked at him patiently. “The collapse of the bank. Did you and…was it anything do with you?” 

It may be the coward’s way, but he’s too tired to deal with James Moriaty, with what he knows or suspects about the other man and his relationship with Sebastian Moran. 

Bastion grinned at him. “I told the doctor and I’ll tell you James, not every misfortune has something do with us. Sometimes,” He smiled. “Thing just work out.”


End file.
